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It was here. I stuck my hand in the mailbox and pulled out the letter. Then, with a patience nurtured by TV and the flash of everyday life, I tore it open. My stomach exploded with butterflies.

I couldn’t believe this!

I shook the paper, as if jostling it about might rearrange its contents.

The words remained the same. Forget the fact that I had prayed for it every night for the last year. Forget the fact that I had taken language courses in school. God had not seen fit to send me someplace prestigious and foreign. My blue eyes simmered as I stared at the paper. This was not the mission call I had envisioned receiving. The population of Knoxville, Tennessee, was about to increase by one clean-cut, dark-suited, two-year missionary.

God was keeping me stateside.